


Things go horribly... right?

by imaginationisrainbowcoloured



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst and Romance, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Eventual Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jack being Jack, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Mom Friend David Jacobs, No Period Typical Homophobia, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Soft Spot Conlon, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins-centric, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationisrainbowcoloured/pseuds/imaginationisrainbowcoloured
Summary: Three years later, Race was still selling in Brooklyn and Spot was still allowing him to go wherever, but there was something else there. Something that hadn’t been there before in the way that Spot would visit him at noon, wait for him to finish selling the morning edition and then buy him lunch.It continued after the strike, into the final few weeks of summer when something finally changed.“You done yet?”Race held up his final two papers in response, making an awkward grimace in a successful attempt to make Spot laugh.“I’ll wait in the usual spot then.”“See ya soon.” Race replied and rather than turning to try to sell them quickly he paused, watching Spot walk away. He didn’t normally, he knew what Spot did, he wandered over to the stables to lean against the wall and smoke until Racer was done- except apparently that wasn’t all he did, as when Spot had gone a little way he turned and started walking backwards, lifting his eyes to watch Race.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva & Racetrack Higgins, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	1. Things go horribly wrong

**Author's Note:**

> this goes out to my biggest fan ily

Spot Conlon was insane. That was what everyone said; he was crazy and heartless and he would hurt anyone without a reason. But he was also loyal. He would protect what he saw as his, and that included all of Brooklyn, every single newsie in Brooklyn was his no matter whether or not he had met them before, and a healthy fear of being ripped to pieces kept the other boroughs from starting shit with them. 

This reputation meant that nobody ever went into Brooklyn unless they desperately needed to- a trip to the docks wasn’t worth drowning, and a casual stroll wasn’t worth the beating you would inevitably get. Or at least, almost all newsies avoided Brooklyn like it was the plague. 

Racetrack Higgins had always been one of a kind, and he went into Brooklyn every day in order to sell at the races. He too had a reputation for being insane, but that was for casually risking Spot’s wrath on the daily rather than because he won fights with the kind of ruthlessness normally seen in wild animals. Nobody understood why Race was the only non-Brooklyn newsie who was allowed to wander in and out of Brooklyn as he pleased, but the other boroughs always followed Spot’s lead and it ended up that Race was the only newsie who was allowed to wander around the whole of Brooklyn as he pleased.

Newsies were scared of Racer- rumours went around that he had once beaten Spot in a fight and had said he wanted to be allowed into Brooklyn rather than taking the title, as was customary in that hierarchy. (Spot had beaten the last Brooklyn King- and if you believed the rumours, had also killed him- who had been 17 compared to Spot’s 12 at the time.) And it made an odd sort of sense, Race had never wanted that much responsibility, he liked gambling and he liked being free to go wherever.  
There were very few people who knew the truth. 

When Race was just 13, only a few weeks after Spot had taken over as the King, he was dared to go into Brooklyn by an older newsie who really should have known better, and even at 13 Race had never been one to back down from a dare or a bet. He had agreed, in exchange for half of the other newsie’s pay and promised to bring back one of their newspapers to prove he had actually done it. 

Nobody could ever remember the name of the newsie who had dared Race- he had actually aged out only a few months later- but everyone remembered the look of shock that had been on both his face and the face of their leader at the time when Race presented him with a paper from Brooklyn, accompanied by signatures from nearly a third of the Brooklyn newsies, including Spot’s at the top, over the headline. 

There had been yelling. So much yelling. Mostly their leader at the older newsie for his stupid choices, but Race remembered it being interspersed with some of the older ones creeping up to him to look at the paper he had still been proudly holding and to ask how the hell he had even managed that.

He hadn’t told them.

*

Three years later, Race was still selling in Brooklyn and Spot was still allowing him to go wherever, but there was something else there. Something that hadn’t been there before in the way that Spot would visit him at noon, wait for him to finish selling the morning edition and then buy him lunch.

It continued after the strike, into the final few weeks of summer when something finally changed.

“You done yet?”

Race held up his final two papers in response, making an awkward grimace in a successful attempt to make Spot laugh.

“I’ll wait in the usual spot then.”

“See ya soon.” Race replied and rather than turning to try to sell them quickly he paused, watching Spot walk away. He didn’t normally, he knew what Spot did, he wandered over to the stables to lean against the wall and smoke until Racer was done- except apparently that wasn’t all he did, as when Spot had gone a little way he turned and started walking backwards, lifting his eyes to watch Race.

They made sudden, unexpected eye contact and both boys whirled back around, their hearts beating fast in their chests.

Shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush making eye contact had given him (and wasn’t that just a testament to how gone he was) Race managed to sell the final two papers and was moving on autopilot towards the place where Spot was waiting.

“Done.”

Spot smiled, “Lunch?”

They didn’t mention the split second that could have been something else and by the time Race was partway through selling the evening edition he had managed to convince himself that it hadn’t happened.

Except, it happened again. The next day, Race glanced back as Spot was walking away and he was walking backwards again, eyes fixed on Race. He could feel the weight of Spot’s eyes on his back as he sold the final few papers that day and every day for a week afterwards. 

*

Albert leaned forwards, steepling his fingers together, “Lemme get this straight.”

Race, from where he was sprawled out across Albert’s bunk with one arm thrown across his eyes in a manner dramatic enough that he could have made a stage career, made a mumbling noise that Albert took as an invitation to continue.

“The boy you like- the real hot boy that you like- stares at you a lot?”

“Don’t say it like that.” He muttered,

“Why not?”

“Because!” Race exclaimed sitting up suddenly, “It makes it sound like he might like me too!”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

Race flopped back down again, groaning unhappily, and saying something that was muffled by the action of his arms being thrown back across his face.

“What?”

“I said why would he like me?”

Albert blinked at him incredulously, an admittedly pointless action as Race couldn’t see him, “Racer…”

“What? ‘m nothing compared to him, Al. He’s the King of Brooklyn and I’m just some newsie who don’t know which borough he belongs to.”

Albert gaped at him, another pointless action since Race still had his arm across his eyes, “Wha-“

“Forget it, ‘m going back to my bunk.”

Albert watched him go, aware that he should have said something, should have addressed the incredible self-esteem issues that his best friend apparently had, but was too shocked by both the self-esteem issues and the idea that Spot couldn’t like Race back. 

He clambered out of his bunk, noting that Race had climbed into his own bunk and was curled up miserably, before quietly moving to the window to unload his concerns onto Jack. Jack always knew what to do.

*

“Spot Conlon?! Racer can’t date Spot!”

“Wha-“

“Al, ‘m so glad you came to me with this. I’m going to Brooklyn now to tell Spot to stop fuckin with Race’s feelings.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Albert informed the now-empty fire escape, wondering if he had just accidentally made everything worse.


	2. Things actually go right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was nearly one, Race realised with a start as his stomach growled, and Spot hadn’t shown up yet. Race had sold all of his papers from the morning edition and was standing in the middle of Sheepshead looking around like an idiot. Spot wasn’t in the usual place. Spot wasn’t running up apologising for being late. Spot wasn’t there.
> 
> He ignored the sinking feeling in his chest and went to get lunch.

It was nearly one, Race realised with a start as his stomach growled, and Spot hadn’t shown up yet. Race had sold all of his papers from the morning edition and was standing in the middle of Sheepshead looking around like an idiot. Spot wasn’t in the usual place. Spot wasn’t running up apologising for being late. Spot wasn’t there.

He ignored the sinking feeling in his chest and went to get lunch. 

Spot didn’t make an appearance in the afternoon or evening either, and Race found himself walking back across the bridge trying not to cry. Obviously, he had been pushing his luck thinking that Spot might be watching him for any reason other than keeping an eye on foreigners in his borough. Somehow, Spot had figured out that he was harbouring feelings for him, and this was his way of letting Race down gently. 

If he had been in a slightly better state of mind when he got back to the lodging house, Race might have noticed how guilty Albert looked once he saw how sad Race looked, but he didn’t. He ate with the others, uncharacteristically quiet and picking at his food.

He didn’t show up the next day either, and three days into his new Spot-less life Race found himself sitting next to Blink and Mush, trying not to feel bitter about their happiness.

On the other side of the table, Davey watched him, concerned, while giving half an ear to whatever Jack was going on about. Unlike Race, Davey had noticed Albert’s guilty look and the way he was trying to give Race a random selection of things, trying to make him laugh or pay attention to anything that wasn’t whatever he was thinking about.

“…an, so I went to Brooklyn and I told him that all of ‘Hattan would soak him if he didn’t stop messing around with Racer and he-“

Davey turned sharply, “You what?”

Jack looked a little unnerved by his sudden interested, “Well, Albert says that Spot’s acting like he likes Racer and its messing with his head, so I told Spot he don’t like him at all and he’s making him uncomfortable… what’s that look for?”

Davey lightly hit his forehead against the edge of the table, “Jack Kelly, you are so so stupid.” He didn’t stop to placate Jack’s reaction, instead yanked him up by his shoulder and marched the two of them out the door, pausing momentarily to grab both of their jackets.

“Dave, Dave, wait where are we going?” Jack demanded, attempting to pull out of Davey’s shockingly determined grip as they marched towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Brooklyn.” Davey replied tartly.

“What for?”

“What for!” Davey stopped them suddenly and spun around to stare at him, “Have you seen Race over these past three days?”

“Yeah, he’s been really sad, so we should go back and focus on him.”

“You are so so stupid!” Davey yelled again, frustrated, “We’re going to Brooklyn so’s you can fix this mess!”

Jack stared at him uncomprehendingly and Davey threw up his hands is exasperation.

“Look. Race likes Spot.”

“He can’t like-“

“Don’t interrupt me! Race likes Spot. Spot likes Race. Albert came to you because he wanted to help Race. You! You made everything worse!”

Jack was staring at him with a slightly haunted expression that was bordering on the same look he had had whenever they saw Snyder. Davey forced himself to calm down and remember that Jack’s experiences of being yelled at had been accompanied by violence.

“I know you were trying to help. But what they need is pushing together, not apart.”

“Race was sad because of… me?”

Davey nodded, attempting to look sympathetic and as if he was on Jack’s side, because he was really, they were both trying to help the newsies as much as possible.

“I gotta fix this.” Jack whispered, and then they were both running towards the Brooklyn Bridge, ducking around the few people that were still out, laughing at each other and throwing apologies behind them whenever someone shrieked or shouted.

*

Spot was back, Race noted with a sort of detached shock. He was back and he looked guilty.

“You done yet?” Spot asked tentatively, glancing down at Race’s empty hands.

Race, for his part, was suddenly ridiculously angry. “You done yet!” He repeated furiously, “You don’t come for nearly a week with no explanation and when you do it’s just ‘you done yet?’!”

Spot glanced around them at the audience that were slowly walking past, obviously interested in their fight. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

“No.” Race snapped. “I have papes to sell.”

“You’ve sold out.” 

“What do you want from me, huh? Come to mock me for being… for being…” he couldn’t quite get the word out, but Spot knew what he meant, and Spot took his arm to pull him away from the crowds when tears started falling from his face.

“Cowboy spoke to me.” Spot began once they were safely behind the stables, “Four days ago, he told me that you knew I was… I am sweet on you and he said I was making you uncomfortable, so I stopped.”

Race, still with tears sliding down his cheeks and red eyes gaped at him, lost for words for what felt like the first time in his life.

“But,” Spot continued nervously, apparently spurred on by his lack of reaction, “he and Mouth came by last night too and Mouth said that Cowboy’d fucked up. That you…”

“Like you too.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

There was an awful, long pause where they both stared at each other, unsure of how to process the information that had been shared, and then one of them moved and they were kissing. Spot shoved Race up against the wooden fence behind him, kissing with the same force he fought with and Race pushed back. It was nowhere near perfect; Race was still crying, and Spot was moving with an awful kind of desperation, but it didn’t matter because they had the rest of their lives to get it perfect.

*

Spot Conlon was insane. That was what everyone said; he was crazy and heartless and he would hurt anyone without a reason. But he was also loyal. He would protect what he saw as his, and that included all of Brooklyn, every single newsie in Brooklyn was his no matter whether or not he had met them before, and a healthy fear of being ripped to pieces kept the other boroughs from starting shit with them. But now, what was his included Racer and rumour had it that he had once ripped the arm off another newsie for just touching Racer.

Nobody knew how they had come to their original business agreement, that would stay between the two of them, but everyone knew that they were the same kind of insane when it came to the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay it fixed  
> anyway mom friend davey ftw

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh cute relationship stuff coming to counteract the awful angst i posted earlier  
> anyways these two are bad at feelings & i got writers block w the reincarnation au so send support  
> thanks for reading ily


End file.
